


The Man in the Grey Suit

by CastielAnakin



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mainly focusing on comfort, Nothing graphic just mentions of, Triggers, mature content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-05
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 08:09:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1170723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CastielAnakin/pseuds/CastielAnakin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Team Free Will has a hard time settling into the bunker as a trio. Small fights and looking for validation are common between their hunts, and feelings get offended. After a comment from Sam, Castiel leaves the bunker for a drink to make him forget what he's feeling, although Dean protests against it. Turns out, Cas should have listened to Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It happens when we least expect it.

It was a cold night. After a long day of hunting down a pretty nasty spirit which was murdering families and cooking their remains - the man was a cannibal before dying, Dean sat in the dining room, cradling a beer as his head fell back and he closed his eyes, remembering how the spirit barred its teeth at him like a rabid dog. While he dozed, Sam and Castiel sat in the entry room and debated whether or not cannibals were in fact evil. The younger Winchester had a look on his face of pure confusion as Castiel went on about how other animals constantly ate their own kind if their brethren we too weak.  
“But Cas, he ate human beings! People with feelings, souls! The victims had family who loved them and were devastated by their deaths; what purpose did he have for doing that other than being completely immoral and insane.” Sam’s comment ricocheted through the bunker off the plain stone walls, eliciting a groan from Dean who languidly raised his head to glare at the duo for interrupting his silent time.  
“Sam!” Dean growled after taking a swig from his beer, “How is it that anytime you disagree with Cas, you happen to raise your voice loud enough for the neighbours to hear?”   
“Dean, there are no neighbours!” Replying to his brother with a tone of frustration, the younger Winchester sighed, balling his hands into fists at his side and then releasing them. “It would just seem that when I bring something up that Cas disagrees with –“  
Stepping in front of Sam, the angel looked at him with a glare cold enough to freeze Hell, and turned his head to the side. As he crossed his arms, Dean smirked in surprise at his friend’s aggressive stance and put his empty beer bottle on the table before clearing his throat.   
“I am right here, Sam. I would appreciate if in the future you did not speak about me as if I weren’t in the room, when I am in fact present.” Castiel stood as still as a statue, his eyes never leaving the hunters as the two continued their stare off for quite some time. Sam eventually wrinkled his nose up and glanced away, his eyes eventually falling upon his brother at the table. Flickering between the two, Dean shrugged with a smirk. There was no point in taking sides in their spats.  
“Fine.” Clearing his throat the younger brother looked back at his friend. “Anytime you and I disagree, you refuse to even consider my statements and I get frustrated. That would be why I raise my voice, because it seems like there is only one sane person who can talk sense into you.”  
The trio exchanged glances between each other, no one particularly ready to speak up on the subject. Sam slowly chuckled in annoyance before moving through the dining room and into the kitchen where all that could be heard was the opening of the fridge and a plate being set down. Pressing his lips together was Dean, completely aware of what his brother was insinuating but unable to figure out how to respond appropriately.   
“I supposed I will go for a walk now, since it seems as if my presence is in question once more. Though I must admit, I did not expect this to happen since Sam is, well, Sam now.” Nodding in thought about his statement, the angel began his trek up to the door.   
Dean stood for a minute, deciding who would be easier to deal with if offended. Swallowing heavily, he jogged into the next room, looking at the door right as Castiel reached it.  
“C’mon Cas, get back down here. You know that Sam is just, er, extra sensitive when he doesn’t get his way.” Clapping his hands together and laughing anxiously, he peeked behind him to see Sam standing in the kitchen doorway with a plate of sandwiches. Facing his friend again he wore his biggest smile. “He’s always been like this, it’s the whole, you know, since I’m his older brother thing, and so. . . he likes to be. . . right? A lot.”  
As the younger Winchester continued glaring in angered silence, the angel just gave one nod before opening the door and exiting the bunker with a gentle thud. The air felt instantly colder, though Dean rationalized in might just be the breeze coming in from outside.   
“You’re such an ass.” Sam scoffed, his pain visible through his façade of irritation.   
“I’m an ass? You’re the one who called him out and made him feel liked he shouldn’t be here.” Rolling his eyes, Dean shuffled back into the dining room and began work on the laptop looking for information to help them take down Abaddon.   
“Dean I just –“ Pointing at the plate, he was cut off.  
“Can I have one of the sandwiches? Looks like you were planning on sharing with all of us, but I guess only you and I will be eating them now.” Nodding Sam put the plate in the middle of the table, taking two with him into the entry room and opening a book on ancient curses against the darkness.  
Twenty miles away with a beat up blue Toyota, Castiel stepped out of the car, looking at the bar in front of him as he beeped the car to lock it as Sam had taught him. It was times like this when he resent the missing part of angelic grace he lost. He could no longer fly wherever he wanted, and due to an experiment Dean had tried, he realized alcohol actually had an effect on him, even though it took twice the amount to get him to the point of being drunk.   
The establishment in front of him read “The Lucky Petunia” and had a painting of a martini on the door. Squinting his eyes in question, he slowly walked to the entrance way. The Winchesters had taught him that if you feel bad, drinking alcohol made things less bad. Given the feeling he had in his stomach when leaving his friends at the bunker was about as alone as he felt in forever; even before meeting Sam and Dean, he had family in Heaven. Of course, since the course of knowing the two hunters, his family and friends quickly dwindled to none.   
Shaking his head from the biting feelings of abandonment, Castiel carefully opened the door. The bar was dark with the occasional neon light placed on the wall, sending bright colours across the floor. The place wasn’t too empty or too full, this way Cas thought he could drink and leave without being noticed too much.  
As he made his way purposefully over to the bar and sat upon the worn stool, the angel realized his hopes were futile. Another man about five-foot-ten and in his thirties smiled and quickly made his way over to the seat next to him. The man seemed intelligent and alert, with dark tan skin, brown eyes and short glossy curls. Nothing like the humans he associated himself with as of late. If he were to guess, he would deduce the man as being of Indian origin. He wore a neat grey pinstriped suit with an off-white tie against an even whiter shirt  
“How are you doing tonight bud?” Castiel’s dark skinned companion whispered to him, getting closer than felt comfortable. “I’m Nicholas. Are you just driving through town? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”  
“This is the first time I’ve been here.” Looking at Nicholas briefly, Castiel turned to the older woman behind the bar. “Yes, my I please have a beer. Thank you very much ma’am.”  
“You look like you got something on your mind. . . What did you say your name was again?” Flashing a mouth full of white teeth, Nicholas coyly tilted his head to the side.  
“My name is Castiel, and I am not having a great day, but I don’t particularly feel like speaking of it.” The lady behind the bar carefully placed his beer in front of him, and quickly reading her name tag added “Thank you a lot Vicky.”  
Pursing his lips, the man looked up as if in thought. “Hey, you know what? You don’t have to talk about it – obviously. But we’ve all been there, so let me buy you something stronger and you can sit with me at the table there in case you do want to share.” Castiel nodded hesitantly and held the beer in his hand, drinking it far too quickly. “Great! You can call me Nick. I’ll be right over.”  
After the both got settled, Nick returned with a large tray full of an assortment of drinks – all of which were much stronger than his beer which he turned to and drank the last inch of liquid from the bottom.   
“I appreciate this, Nicholas. But I just remembered I have to go back and pay Vicky for me beer.” In an excuse to leave the situation, Castiel began to stand before a dark hand gripped his wrist.  
“I took care of the bill already – you just relax. There’s nothing for you to worry about. Now please, sit down and keep me a spot of company for a little.” Nick’s brown eyes stared genuinely at the angel, which made him relax a little.  
Eying the tray hungrily, Cas sat down, took the closest two shots and drank them down minutes after another. Chuckling, his companion looked at him, smiling wide once more and whistled.  
“Whoa man, you can really toss ‘em back. How much do you drink?” Smiling in response, Castiel blushed, causing both of them to look away.  
“I don’t indulge in alcohol often, but I have a high tolerance.” Relishing in the slight attention from Nick, he takes a brown drink in a tumbler and drinks it down in two swallows. Feeling lighter than before, he cracks a shy smile and points to the tray. “I do believe it’s your turn to drink a few now.”  
“I shall. It would be rude for me not to, wouldn’t it?” Taking the same drink Castiel just had, he slowly sipped at it. “So tell me, are you feeling better now with a few drinks in you?”  
While he was reaching for his fifth drink, the angel thought, his deep blue eyes staring at the table as if the shiny surface had all his answers. He did feel much better, the feelings of mistake and rejection fading. As his thoughts wondered back to the brothers, he felt another twinge of pain in his chest.  
“As long as I don’t think about what upset me, it seems to be under control.” Castiel sighed and took the shot he was holding, wincing at the burn in his throat. “My friends, they just, I live with them and love them but it seems like they don’t want me there. I often times feel forgotten and they never include me when making, uh . . . important decision about things.”  
“Oh, I understand, I do.” Nicholas responded, the darkness of his eyes seeming to get deeper. “You just want them to pay a little attention to you? Is that it?”  
Finishing off his initial drink, he reached for another but merely set it in front of him, his smile more of a smirk than before. Looking around, Castiel had a strange tingling feeling on his spine. He wasn’t used to his bodily sensations quite yet, but it put him on edge. Taking another glass with brown liquid, which he realized must be whiskey; he took one gulp and nodded.   
“I do wish Dean would spend a little more time talking with me.” As he looked up, his vision was beginning to get blurry and he quickly finished off the rest of the drink and took another shot of clear liquid. “I mean, Sam is a lot of fun, but he’s always upset about something. I have taken care of a lot of infants and he whines more than even babies are accustomed. I can’t explain why Dean is different, but he is. . . “  
Nick stood up and offered his hand to Castiel, waiting patiently as he adjusted his suit blazer. A pale hand clasped his own dark one and miraculously – though with work mainly from Nicholas, they were both standing.  
“We got to get you home; I think you drank too much, regardless of high tolerance.” Chuckling, he swung Cas’ arm over his neck and carefully began leading them both to a brown, worn looking door. As he got closer to the door, Nick nodded to Vicky who was carefully watching him as he carried the overly intoxicated Castiel who was mumbling about friendship and love before looking up.  
“This – this is not correct. We are going to the wrong door.” He began to state loudly, his face going even paler than usual as he stared at the paint chipping off around the plastic plaque saying ‘Side Exit. Employee use only.’  
Without another word, Nicholas quickly shoved Castiel out the door, and closed it behind them and pushed the angel down the stairs, making him fall to his knees, scrapping them in the process.  
“This is the exact door we needed to go out.” Nicholas looked up, his own face paler than before, but the once friendly smile turned malicious as he stepped closer to Castiel’s form and kicked him repeatedly with his heavy shoes before seizing. His body - now covered in red cuts, scraps and gouges lay spread out and limp besides the wall, the view from the street blocked by a dumpster facing outward. The wicked man crouched down next to his captive and held his cheek up with on hand, watching the blue eyes before him crinkle with the realization of what was about to occur.   
“No.” The whisper kicked from his sore chest, the words barely audible as they had been disconnected and weak. All the while blood was dripping down his cheek from a cut at his hair line. The once black hair now was stained with streaks of red.   
“You have such a pretty face. It’s dangerous to go around to bars looking like that, you know. You’re practically begging for this, aren’t you?” Dropping Castiel’s cheek, Nick grabbed a tuft of hair, pulling it back. “After all, you did say you were hoping that your friend. . . What was his name again? Oh yes – Dean. You were hoping that Dean would spend more time with you. I’ll give you the attention you need. Promise.”


	2. No Way Back

After awakening from what he could best remember being a kick to the head, Castiel felt a wave of radiating pain sweep over his body. Despite him still being celestial, many of the “perks” of being an angel had diminished since the fall of Heaven; pain was another thing he was now able to feel. Looking over his body, he noticed the blood and bruises, reminding him of the many battles he had been through on Earth, Hell, Purgatory and Heaven. Respective to the blood shed and the lives lost through the wars he had seen, the event was seemingly nothing; but it didn’t feel that way. Emotions of regret and shame circled through his head like an infinite carousel. He had to do something, get out of the alley in which he felt his hope break and his worth shatter into fragments no creature could ever find.  
As he moved to sit upright, he felt light headed and nauseous, tempted to lay back down and decay like the trash that surrounded him. Groaning, he forced himself to rise, pushing against the ground with wobbly arms. Castiel felt pain in an area he had never experience before, a persistent reminder of the assault with every step.   
“The bunker; I have to get to the bunker.” He whispered to himself, placing his hand carefully on the repulsive wall as he feebly made his way towards the open road.   
As the angel made his way across the street to where he parked the faded blue car, he stopped suddenly, praying to a God he hoped was still in existence somewhere that the assailant didn’t take his keys in addition to his pride. Castiel patted his hands over his pockets, pulse racing and horror barely held at bay. That’s when he heard it – the miraculous sound of metal against metal. There was a way home. The automobile beeped as he shuffled over to the driver’s door, unlocked only long enough for Cas to fit his body through.   
A breath of relief left his lips, the pain ever present in his body. At least he had an escape from the memories of earlier. Putting the keys into the ignition and twisting it faster than any human ever could, he slid the car into drive and took off, for once ignoring the limits regarding how fast he was legally permitted to drive. Castiel’s mind went blank, focusing only on the road.  
“Sam!” The holler echoed throughout the bunker, Dean’s voice held frustration weaved though out the single syllable. “Sam! Get over here now!”  
Groaning from his bedroom down the hall, the younger Winchester rubbed his eyes open, contemplating the risk versus benefits of ignoring his brother. If he got up and went to find out what Dean wanted, he likely would get roped into an argument, seeing how that’s where many of their conversations ended up as of late. Staying in bed would be preferable, seeing as he had already been asleep for the last couple hours. Then again, he knew his brother well enough that if he didn’t go to him then Dean would just go find him and be pissed about being ignored.  
“Yeah!” Sam hollered, slowly stepping out of bed, his expression conveying his annoyance of being woken up. “What do you want? Do we have a case or something?”  
As Dean stared into the open books in front of him, his pen taping nervously on the side of the table, worry flooded inside of him. It was two in the morning. Castiel had fled, feeling dejected, around ten and had yet to return to the bunker. There was no way that the angel had been walking around for four hours, even Cas had his limits. As Dean heard footsteps enter the room, he looked up to see Sam languidly move to the sit across from him.   
“You called for me?” The words were stated monotone, exhaustion seeping into his face as he started at his older brother.  
“Uh, yeah. I did. Cas hasn’t returned since you yelled at him, and we need to discuss that.” Pursing his lips, Dean nodded, his eyes lost in thought.   
“I definitely did not yell at him. All I did was explain that I was frustrated that you two always seem to be on the same side and I’m left looking like the enemy when I disagree. He chose to leave, on his own free will.”  
“It’s been four hours, Sam. When has anyone ever gone on a walk that lasted the long? Huh? You made him feel like he didn’t belong and now he’s up and left again! I thought when Gadreel left you that there wasn’t going to be anymore kicking people out of the bunker. All three of us promised to stick together, and here, our only friend left because people around us end up dead, is out there because we keep separating from those around us. How many more people can we lose?”  
“I didn’t kick him out! He left because of how he felt. No one has the ability to make other people feel anything. You even asked him to stay and he still went out.” Taking a deep breath, Sam tilted his head at his brother, looking at him with pity. “I honestly don’t think he’s in fatal danger. He probably just went out and decided to go to a library or even maybe a bar. The point is that he’s disappeared for longer periods of time. Why is this different?”  
Running a tired hand over his face, Dean closed his eyes for a moment before matching his brother’s gaze. The worry drizzled over careful, like drops of rain before enveloping his expression as a whole.  
“This feels different, feels like he’s in trouble.” At the unnaturally sentimental words, Sam’s eyes widened before nodding in sympathy. Dean began to open his mouth to continue what he was saying when he heard a crash at the bunker door. Within seconds the hunters were on their feet, hands mere millimeters above their respective weapons.  
Castiel had quickly parked the old Toyota in front of the building and crawled out, feeling even lighter headed than before. The symptoms of blood loss were quickly recalled from his memory, a likely cause for being unable to stand; that, and his multiple wounds. Energy was slowly leaking out of his body; the door. All Castiel had to do was get to that door. He repeated the word over and over in his head as the racing thoughts began to darken. He could barely remember taking the stairs down. All that he could remember past exiting the car was the shooting pain his body was reminded of as he collapsed against the cold metal door.  
Moments later, the door was flung open by a battle-ready Sam, eyes intent as he had prepared to look for the potential enemy. Seeing his friend crumpled on the ground and covered in blood paralyzed him, with Dean quick behind him experiencing the same feeling of panic.   
“Castiel?” the younger hunter breathed, his eyes emulating that of a wounded animal as he took in the situation. He knew they both were taking too long getting the body inside, and that if it had been a trap they both would have been caught. Soft groans emerged from Dean’s throat, his eyes wet and afraid.   
“We should, uhm, probably take him inside. He looks like he needs –“ Dean pushed past his brother. There was no point in talking out what to do; he was a man of action, not of conversation. They both approached Castiel’s limp form, Dean moving to cradle his head and arms while Sam carefully place his hands under the legs. Nodding to another, they raised their friend from the ground and through the door, kicking it closed behind them.  
“I can handle him from here.” The first words Dean dared utter, simple and to the point. “You lock up and make sure no one followed him. I’ll put him to bed.”  
Castiel was adjusted, all his weight now being solely supported by Dean as he gently went down the inner steps on his way to his bedroom.   
“Alright Cas, we’re going through the dining room now. About to my room; I’ll keep an eye on you. We’ve got to get you clean up as soon as possible, so you better wake your feathered -self up here in a minute or two.” Dean continued to speak to the angel, although there was no audible response. Although he would swear that he heard a whimper when he placed Castiel on the tops of his sheets in the room. “Now, I know you usually sleep in the clinic area, or in the living room, but they’re not very warm, I guess. . . “  
Sitting down into the chair across from the bed, Dean settled back in his chair, eyes sharp on his friend as he remained still upon the plain comforter. After a short few minutes, footsteps could be heard echoing down the hall, stopping ever once in a while. Soon the door opened, a weary Sam entering as well.  
“Still nothing?”  
“Nope.”  
“Dean, I’m sorry. I know this, this is tough.” At the comment he flinched in his seat, eyes wandering to the face above him. Though it was meant to be comforting, he felt as if Sam had stuck a sword into his stomach. They had to do something.   
“Uh,” clearing his throat and continuing to meet Sam’s eyes “I need to get some of this blood off his arms and legs. Maybe get him a different pair of clothes since these are half shredded. I can take care of him; you can go to sleep or whatever.”  
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Sam scoffed, shaking his head in peeved disbelief as his brother rose to leave the room. “I can’t sleep when our friend is half dead here!”   
Spinning on his heel, Dean turned to look behind him for a second as he began down the hall and into the kitchen. A glare that threatened murder met Sam’s face. He could tell what his brother was saying in that brief look; that there was no way Castiel was dying under their roof – not now, not ever. Following into the dining room, Sam planted himself at the table after gathering a few books regarding angels. The remaining two sandwiches still sat on the plate as he had left them hours earlier. Cursing and slamming of drawers could be heard from the kitchen where his brother had entered. While he contemplated if being attack by his own blood would be worth trying to help, Dean emerged with a pot full of water and two towels slung over his arm. Without a word, he marched down the hall, focused on his task.  
After entering the small room, a breath of relief escaped his chest, relieving a pressure he didn’t know had been there seconds before. He sat the water pot down. Grabbing one of the towels off his arm and letting the other fall to the floor, tears welled up as he dipped the towel into the cool water.   
“Alright Cas. . .” his voice broke and he tried to clear it as he moved to sit on the side of the bed and reached for the hand before him. At least he was alive, he told himself. “I’m just gonna clean your hands and arms right now. Say something if you can hear me?  
“Didn’t think so.” The whisper was followed by the towel as he watched the blood mix with the water and fall upon the blanket beneath them. “Well damn it. You’re getting blood on my bed! Heh. Don’t worry about it now Cas, I don’t actually care.”  
As the minutes passed like hours, Dean fought the urge to break down completely. Finally, he had gotten one hand clean; now to the rest of the arm. Dipping the cloth in water once more, he placed it at the scarlet wrist only a moment before it was yanked away. The bed creaked as Castiel painstakingly rose into a sitting position.  
“Dean.” He breathed, his face ashamed and concerned in one position. Looking down at his clean hand and around the room, he persisted “Are you alright? How did you – this is your room.”  
“What the hell happened to you? Was it Hell? Angels?” Fear turned into anger with each word, and Castiel pulled himself away from his friend in the slightest of motions. Dean caught onto this immediately and cleared his throat. “How about we get you cleaned up, and then we can go over this?”  
“I, I don’t believe my body is capable of cleaning itself at the moment.”  
“Then I’ll help, just get in the bathtub and leave your pants on or whatever you wanna do. It won’t be the first time I’ve cleaned a bloodied body.” He stood and moved closer to the angel, ready to help him up.  
“No.” Pause. “ I don’t want help with this. Please don’t touch me. This is- this is all my fault and I should do this myself. Your assistance isn’t deserved by me. I am no longer good or worthy of help; it seems I go asking for trouble, or so I’ve been told.”   
A shaky breath escaped, followed by a moan of agony as Castiel attempted to rise from the bed himself. Tears he didn’t know he could make appeared in his eyes with increasing volume at each movement. Ignoring what he had been told, Dean leaned over to help the angel.  
“Dean –“  
“Dammit Cas, shut up. Let me help you!” Heavy seconds bridged between them before Castiel nodded in compliance. With all the caution possible, his body was lifted from the bed and carried at a record slow pace to the bathroom across the hall. “All right, I’m going to put you in the bathtub and start the water Then I’ll go get some pain medication and return. Can we handle that?”  
Receiving only a nod in response from the bundle in his arms, Dean did just that. Adjusting the nob proved more difficult than expect but eventually the right temperature was reached without any injuries. As Castiel could feel his wounds stinging then easing slightly, he felt the last microscopic fragment of his pride break off into oblivion.  
“All right!” Dean entered the room, his façade of excitement cracking as he saw his angel sitting in watered down blood. “I’ve got some meds for you, but first let’s work on cleaning you up. . .”  
There was no exchange of words, only the occasional tear and groan of pain verified that either of them was even cognizant of the situation. An hour past, Dean being far too gentle and controlling of every little motion; Castiel was not able to remove his shirt without assistance. Soon after the blood had been cleansed from his hair with shampoo he knew was not his own, the blood was gone and he was being rinsed off by the shower head.   
“I’ll get you some clothes. Do you have anything that’s not, well, a suit?” He rose, eyeing the pale and speckled figure before him. Forcing himself to look away from the wounds for the time being, he regarded Cas’ face only. A subtle shake of the dark hair told him all he needed to know, and he helped his friend from the tub and handed him a towel that had been folded on the counter.   
Returning with a First Aid kit, a clean boxer, a pair of his own sweatpants, and a Metallica t-shirt, he watched as Castiel finished drying himself off, some of the gashes bleeding once more. He left for a moment out of respect during the underwear change, then re-entered and proceeded to finish clothing him. Standing was exhausting for him, so he sat on the toilet, too confused to even close the top down. He couldn't care any less.  
“So as for these marks, we’ve got to get them sooner than later.” Dean whispered, his vivid green eyes meeting the broken blue ones he had grown accustom to having around. He reached his hand out and grasped the one he had first cleaned what seemed like an eternity ago. “I got some water, so you can go ahead and take about . . . three of those pills. Trust me, two does not cut it.”  
Castiel obliged, and slipped his hand from the reassuring one only for the purpose of taking the medicine before he returned it to his lap. A snap caused him to jump, his eyes darting to the source immediately. Of course, he told himself, Nicholas made sure to hurt me to the best of his ability. Gauze, antibiotics and bandages were pulled from the translucent case. Dean’s hands paused above the case once more before removing stitching wire and a needle.   
“Thank you.” A voice whispered above the blonde head as he clutched the Neosporin and began to put some over the marks on Cas’ arm. Looking up, he just nodded. No words had a chance of escaping without being portrayed as whimpers. A good thirty minutes pass, Castiel with his head on his chest, dozing in and out of consciousness; Dean talked to him the whole time, explaining what he was doing and why he had to.   
Every time he had to adjust the clothing, he muttered “Tell me to stop if you’re uncomfortable.” Castiel never said a word. As he had the final gauze set in place, he mindlessly reached for the pale hand now hanging empty. It helped more than he thought it could.   
“Alright Cas, I’m going to carry you to bed – but you’re half asleep so you probably won’t care.” Placing one arm under his knees and another under his shoulders/neck region, Dean lifted his angel with ease, leading them once more to his room. As he lowered the body to the bed, Castiel jerked awake, eyes wide with terror before focusing on Dean. “It’s okay, it’s okay. You’re in bed, don’t worry.”  
“Will you stay with me?” the angel asked, his eyes fully alert as he watched his friend nod.   
“I’m going to stay right here,” Dean pointed at the chair and tried to smile, though it was deeply lacking. “You rest up, yeah?”  
“No.”  
“Wait, what?”   
“I said no, this is your bed not mine. I wanted you to –“ Shaking his head, Castiel looked sadly towards the floor. “Never mind. I am perfectly capable of sleeping elsewhere. I wish not to be intrusive and a burden to you.”  
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not moving you again. What were you trying to say?” A flutter rose in his chest, and he chastised himself for it. This is not a good situation. How dare he take priority over his own emotional needs when his friend was clearly hurting?  
“It’s nothing –“  
“Cas.”  
“I was just proposing that you could share the bed, it’s plenty big enough and I’ll be sure not to touch you. I know how you get about those kinds of things.”  
“What are you talking about ‘those kinds of things’? Listen Cas, I am here for whatever you need. If you need to be, hugged or whatever you want, I’m here.” Dean smiled earnestly for the first time in hours, reaching for Castiel’s hand again as he found it necessary. “I’m here.”  
“Okay.” He moved under the covers, his skin between the bruises and marks home to goose-bumps. Dean followed suit, anxiety and love building up in his chest as he scooted closer to his friend. “It’s likely I will have nightmares tonight. If it bothers you, I can leave.”  
“No. I’m staying.” Dean scooted closer and wrapped one arm around Castiel’s front. Within five minutes of lying there in silence, the sound of sobs being held back can be heard. “It’s okay to let it out. I won’t judge.”  
Accepting the truth of the words, Cas scooted close enough that he could put his head on Dean’s chest and cried himself to sleep. It would be hours before either of them awoke. The sound echoed through the bunker. Sam finished his research and found that it led nowhere; there was nothing to healing an angel. Heaven falling threw them all into unknown territory, and it was obvious that Castiel had the brunt of this. For once, it was the angel who needed healing and there was nothing they could do.  
As he closed the books and walked down the hall towards his room, he was aware of sobs coming from behind the cracked door of his brother’s room. Sam, curious as he was, peeked and sucked in a breath of relief. Maybe there was a way that Castiel could be healed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I've been at all sorts of Doctor appointments and my medicine has been changed, but at last! I have the next chapter. This is angst. Comfort next. Slight rommy moments I guess??? AM I GETTING LOST IN THIS? If so, let me know. :)

**Author's Note:**

> First story on here, likely won't be long. I do hope to update it though. Please be kind! Bless.


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